


She Who Fights With Monsters

by Arvanion



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Betrayal, Developing Friendships, F/F, Fire Emblem: Three Houses Blue Lions Route, Loss of Faith, Loyalty, Monsters, Religious Guilt, Revolution, Romantic Friendship, Self-Doubt
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-23
Updated: 2020-09-04
Packaged: 2021-02-28 17:01:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 6,495
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23290639
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arvanion/pseuds/Arvanion
Summary: The Church of Seiros teaches that the Crests are a blessing from the Goddess, but Marianne has never felt blessed. When she speaks with Edelgard, she begins to question her faith, and wonders if she might walk a different path.~“He who fights with monsters might take care lest he thereby become a monster. And if you gaze for long into an abyss, the abyss gazes also into you.”
Relationships: Marianne von Edmund/Edelgard von Hresvelg
Comments: 10
Kudos: 62





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> For Dorkling, who was wonderfully patient with me when it became clear the scope of this project was expanding well beyond what we'd initially planned.

All her life, Marianne von Edmund has lived in fear of her Crest. It comes in many forms—fear of being despised when the truth of her lineage is uncovered, of being cast away by her friends, of succumbing to the blood of the beast within her. There is a feeling of bleak certainty to her fears: in her mind it is not a question of  _ if _ they will come to pass, but  _ when _ .

She listens to the scriptures, and pushes down a sick feeling in her stomach when the monks speak of Crests as a blessing from the goddess. To Marianne, her Crest is nothing but a curse, but her prayers to be free of it are fruitless.

One night, as Marianne makes her way to the cathedral to pray, she spots someone leaning against the rail of the bridge, staring into the darkness of the ravine below. The figure turns at the sound of her footsteps and greets her in a quiet voice. “Ah. Good evening, Marianne.” The striking white hair and pale eyes mark the speaker as Edelgard, the imperial princess.

“G-good evening, Your Highness…” Marianne shifts uncomfortably. She hadn’t expected to run into anyone at this time of night, and she’s not sure how to carry on the conversation.

“Please, there’s no need for formalities. I would prefer for you to address me as an equal—we are all fellow students here, after all.”

“Then, um, good evening, Edelgard.”

The princess smiles. “So, what brings you here so late?”

“I wished to offer my prayers to the goddess.”

“Did you, now?”

There’s something in Edelgard’s voice that makes Marianne curious, and it compels her to ask a question of her own. “Are you here to pray, too?”

To her surprise, Edelgard laughs softly. “No. To tell the truth… well, perhaps this is improper for one of noble lineage to admit, but it has been some time since I last prayed.”

Marianne blinks. “Why?”

There’s a bare moment of hesitation before Edelgard replies. “I cannot rely on gods to provide the future I wish for. It is something I must seize with my own hands.”

“I… I see.” Marianne has never questioned her own faith, but something about the clarity of Edelgard’s answer makes her wonder if she should have.

“Besides, the gifts of the goddess are a fickle thing.” Edelgard looks up at the banners hanging from the cathedral, proudly bearing the Crest of Seiros. “We are taught that the Crests were a blessing from the goddess—a gift to guide us, her wayward children. But I would just as soon cast such a gift aside. How many have been led astray by this ‘guidance?’ How many have fought and killed to claim these gifts, said to be so freely given?”

“I don’t know,” says Marianne. She thinks of her father—not of Margrave Edmund, but her blood father.  _ He passed his blood down to me… the blood of the Beast. How much did he suffer for that blood? How much will I? _

Some of Marianne’s doubts must have shown in her face, because when Edelgard speaks again her tone is apologetic. “Forgive me. I did not mean to keep you from your prayers, nor did I mean to belittle your faith.”

“You don’t need to apologize,” says Marianne reflexively. “I’ll be on my way.”

Edelgard nods. “Goodnight, then.”

With a wave farewell, the princess turns her back on the cathedral and walks away. Marianne watches her go, thoughts of prayer far from her mind as she considers Edelgard’s words.  _ To seize the future with her own hands, and cast aside the gifts of heaven... _

When Marianne thinks of the future, she feels only dread, but Edelgard is different.  _ She has a vision, and the resolve to pursue it.  _ It’s as if Edelgard is the sun, illuminating shadows Marianne had never even noticed.  _ I truly admire that… I only wish that I had that kind of courage. _

Deep in her heart, a seed of doubt is planted.


	2. Chapter 2

The events at the end of the Ethereal Moon shake Marianne to her core. She had already known of the strange power that could turn humans into mindless monsters—the events of Conand Tower are burned into her memory—but this is the first time she has seen it happen to innocents. When the bestial husks have rotted away, the broken bodies of the students within are a harsh reminder of the fate that awaits her.

Edelgard, usually so steadfast and confident, seems as haunted by their fates as Marianne herself. On a gloomy, grey morning, Marianne returns from a ride to find her in the stables, tending to a familiar-looking stallion.

“I recognize him,” she says softly. Edelgard looks up, nodding a greeting.

“I thought you would. He was Captain Jeralt’s, am I right?”

“Yes.” Marianne dismounts, undoing the straps of Dorte’s saddle and returning it to its block. “He seems to be mourning the captain, too.”

“We all are,” says Edelgard. “This is the first time I’ve seen Professor Byleth so... openly emotional.” She runs a brush down the stallion’s flank. “And Sir Jeralt wasn’t our only loss.”

“The monsters at the chapel…” Marianne breathes.  _ But for the grace of the goddess, I might have been among them. _

“They  _ weren’t _ monsters.”

The sudden ferocity in Edelgard’s voice comes as a surprise. “What?”

“They weren’t monsters, Marianne. Their minds were stolen from them. They may have been twisted, used to fight against their will, but they were never monsters.” She seems to be speaking to herself as much as to Marianne. After a brief pause, Edelgard turns back to Marianne and poses a question. “Do you recall the incident with the Lance of Ruin, some moons ago?”

“You mean, with Sylvain’s older brother?” Marianne looks over her shoulder nervously. “I… I was there, yes.”

“Miklan Anschutz Gautier,” says Edelgard. She folds her hands behind her back. “Eldest son of his house. He would have been the heir, but he was born Crestless, so his family discarded him. I don’t know if his theft of the Lance was an attempt to claim his birthright or merely a way of seeking revenge, but either way, the result was the same. The Lance of Ruin turned on him,  _ devoured  _ him, and made him into a beast.”

Marianne’s eyes widen in surprise. “Wait, how did you—Lady Rhea ordered that no one was to speak if it!”

“Because it would undermine the people’s faith in the nobility?” says Edelgard, a bitter edge to her voice. “So I heard. But I have my own ways of gathering information.” She fidgets with the hem of her glove. “In any case, I imagine something similar must have been done to the students who went missing. The archbishop would have us believe such a thing is a punishment from the Goddess, but I suspect it is a property of the Relics themselves.”

“It wouldn’t surprise me,” says Marianne. She’d gotten a closer look at the Lance of Ruin when Professor Byleth returned it to the monastery, and even the memory of it makes her shiver.  _ It had twitched of its own volition, as if it were alive… alive and seeking its next victim to corrupt. _

Edelgard nods once again. “After hearing of such a tragedy, and witnessing for myself how even the innocent can be warped by them, I cannot think of the Heroes’ Relics as a blessing. I would call them a tool, but even that would be wrong—it is as if the Crests have a will of their own. Would a farmer wield a scythe, knowing it might turn itself against their neck as soon as it would against their grain?”

Marianne’s mind goes to her own Crest, how she dreads to even acknowledge it in her inmost thoughts, because to do so would give it a hold over her. “No,” she says quietly. “I do not imagine they would.”

“Yet the Church teaches us that the Crests and their Relics are a gift from the Goddess. The guardians of our borders rely on their power to protect their lands from interlopers and safeguard their own interests. And regardless of which family line lays claim to them, their status as holy relics means that in the end, they belong to the Church. The fear of having their greatest defenses taken away is a powerful motive to adhere to the Seiros teachings. If the Church teaches that the Crestless are unworthy, who will gainsay them?” Edelgard’s expression darkens. “If I am being truthful, the ability to effortlessly wield a power that utterly consumes others is a far more frightening prospect.”

Their awkward conversation lapses, and the pair tend to the horses in silence. Even so, it lingers in Marianne’s mind for a long time after.

_ Could Edelgard be right in her belief that the Heroes’ Relics are not a gift, but a bribe? And if the Beasts transformed by their magic are not monsters… what is it that makes a real monster, then? _


	3. Chapter 3

Edelgard is gone from the monastery, but her absence looms larger than her presence ever did. Everywhere Marianne goes, there are whispers of the woman who dared to defy the archbishop: the princess who would raise her sword against heaven itself.

The long-dormant seed of doubt stirs below the surface, and Marianne can feel it sprouting day by day. She remembers Edelgard’s resolve, her hope for the future, and the look in her eyes when she spoke of casting aside the goddess’s “gifts.” But more than that, Marianne remembers her fierce denial that the students turned to beasts had been monsters.

She contrasts that with the denunciations of Edelgard. The church would have everyone believe she was a tyrant, seeking war for its own sake, acting purely out of malice and hunger for power. Marianne wonders how anyone who had ever spoken to Edelgard for more than a few moments could believe such brazen lies.

If anything, she is frightened by the bloodlust she sees on display at the monastery. Catherine makes no attempt at concealing her eagerness to cut down Lady Rhea’s foes, and many of the other Knights of Seiros seem to share her anticipation. Most disturbing of all is Prince Dimitri’s reaction. He seems completely unhinged, laughing and muttering to himself about the horrors he will inflict on the Empire in revenge.

The longer she remains, the more convinced Marianne becomes that everyone can see her doubts, and that it is only a matter of time before their rage is turned against her, too.  _ I cannot remain here any longer _ . When Marianne next takes Dorte out for a ride beyond the walls of Garreg Mach, she does not return.

Her progress across the countryside is slow, but speaking to the travelers she passes on her way lets her know that she is headed in the right direction. The Imperial Army is on the march, and will likely reach Garreg Mach by the end of the moon.

One evening Marianne crests a hill to see a sea of tents stretching out below her. She pats Dorte’s neck fondly, a weary smile coming to her face. “Looks like we made it.”

She makes no effort to conceal her approach as she rides down into the valley. When she nears the perimeter of the camp, a woman’s firm voice hails her. “State your name and business, traveler.”

“M-Marianne von Edmund,” she replies, unable to keep her voice from quivering. “I’ve come to speak to Edelgard—uh, I mean, to the Emperor.”

The guard captain steps forward, removing her helm. She has strong, handsome features, with brown hair pulled into a neat bun at the back of her head. Her tone is curious. “You speak as if you know Her Majesty personally. Are you a student at the Officers’ Academy?”

Marianne hesitates momentarily before answering. “I  _ was  _ a student there. Not anymore.” Her fingers tighten around Dorte’s reins.  _ Are they suspicious of me? Maybe coming here was a mistake…  _

As if reading her mind, the captain smiles reassuringly. “You have nothing to fear. Her Majesty has given orders that any students from the monastery be allowed through.” She calls over her shoulder in a brisk tone. “I need two volunteers!” A pair of soldiers step forward, saluting. “One of you, go to the Quartermaster and see to having a tent prepared for Lady Marianne. The other will notify the Emperor’s guard to expect a visitor shortly. Am I understood?”

“Yes, Captain Ladislava!” After a brief muttered exchange of words, the two soldiers jog off in different directions.

Ladislava returns her attention to Marianne. “You’ve journeyed quite a ways to reach us. If you like, we can offer you a meal before—”

“Thank you, but I need to see her as soon as I can.” Marianne puts all the confidence she can muster into her words.  _ I need to see for myself if she still shines as brightly as she did back then. _

“Of course.” Ladislava extends a hand to Marianne to help her dismount; perhaps not a necessary gesture, but a courteous one. “Then I shall accompany you, while our ostlers tend to your mount.”

“Thank you,” says Marianne. She accepts the offered hand and slides out of the saddle. Though she stumbles when she reaches the ground, the captain’s steady hand keeps her upright.

“Easy there. I imagine you’re quite tired from traveling this long.” Ladislava smiles encouragingly and offers her arm. “Not to worry, I’ll escort you myself. Lean on me if you must.” She beckons another soldier over to take Dorte’s reins. “See to it that her mount is stabled and fed, and alert Randolph that I’m leaving the watch in his hands for now.”

“Understood.”

Marianne leans heavily on Ladislava’s arm as the captain leads her toward the center of the camp. After spending so long on horseback, she barely trusts her legs to keep her upright.

All around her, she sees the Imperial soldiers going about their nightly business—eating, drinking, seeing to their weapons, or throwing dice. From time to time she hears bouts of laughter for a well-told joke, or groans of disappointment as a wager goes awry. A man in an archer's leathers raises his mug in a toast. “Long live the Emperor! Victory to Her Majesty!” He’s greeted by a chorus of cheers.

It’s a marked contrast from the grim tension of the monastery.  _ These people all admire her, too,  _ Marianne thinks to herself.  _ They’ve put their trust and their hope in her. I’ve spent so long second-guessing myself, but maybe I’ve finally found something to believe in. _

Ladislava stops in front of a large tent with the double-headed eagle of House Hresvelg emblazoned on its side. The guard outside nods to her. “This is the student, then? Go on in. Her Majesty is ready to receive you.”

Marianne nods her thanks—she knows that if she speaks, her voice will crack and betray her nerves. Then, squaring her shoulders, she brushes aside the tent flap and enters.

Edelgard is seated at a folding camp table, a plain tea set in front of her. Her eyes widen in surprise when she sees who her visitor is. “Marianne… I didn’t expect it would be  _ you _ .”

“H-hello, Your Majesty,” says Marianne, her voice barely above a whisper.

The emperor smiles. “I told you before, just Edelgard is fine.” She motions to the chair across from her. “Please, sit down.”

“Thank you.”

Marianne can only wait nervously as the Emperor of Adrestia pours tea for both of them before settling back into her seat. She murmurs her thanks again and sips at her tea in silence, trying to work up the courage to speak.

“Um—”

“Why—” Edelgard begins at the same time, then laughs self-consciously. “Forgive me. I did not mean to interrupt you.”

Marianne responds with a shaky giggle of her own. “No, it’s fine, really… I don’t know what I was going to say. What was your question?”

“I was going to ask why you chose to leave the monastery,” says Edelgard. “It cannot have been an easy decision. I know that you truly believe in the goddess, so… why would you choose to side with me?”

Marianne’s mind whirls with a thousand possible answers. In the end, she can think of no better answer than the entire truth. “I bear one of the lost Crests… Maurice’s Crest. It’s also known as the Crest of the Beast.”

“The Crest of the Beast,” Edelgard repeats thoughtfully. “I have heard mention of it in the Imperial histories—it is said that the line who bore it were persecuted and ostracized.”

“Yes, it’s as you say.” Marianne clasps her hands around her cup to keep them from shaking. “It’s a burden I never wished for. And for so long, I thought I could never be rid of it… not so long as I still lived.”

Edelgard’s eyes are full of compassion and understanding. “Oh, Marianne. I’m so sorry—”

“You don’t have to be sorry!” Marianne blurts out. Embarrassed by her own audacity, she nonetheless pushes on. “It’s because of you that I began to believe otherwise; to hope for a future where I could live on, and be free! Before I met you I hadn’t even dreamed of such a thing, but your dream became mine.” She feels tears stinging at the corners of her eyes, but a smile is on her lips. “Edelgard, it’s true that I believe in the goddess, but I also believe in you.  _ You  _ are my hope.”

“Marianne…”

Her movements still stiff, Marianne gets up from her chair and falls to one knee before the emperor, hand over her heart and head bowed. “Your Majesty—I, Marianne von Edmund, swear that I shall do all within my power to see your dream to fruition. From now on, I will follow you.”

Edelgard doesn’t answer at first. Marianne keeps her eyes fixed on the floor, cheeks burning.  _ Just as I thought… I overdid it. _

She’s surprised to see a pair of boots come into view and feel a gentle hand on her arm, pulling her to her feet. Then she’s face-to-face with the emperor. Marianne realizes, for the first time, just how  _ small  _ Edelgard is. Her confidence and poise has always made her seem larger than life, but with scarce distance separating them, Marianne can see the turmoil beneath her imperious mask.  _ For all that we have been through, for all our grand visions, we are still little more than children _ , she realizes.

“I will gladly accept your loyalty,” says Edelgard, “but I must insist on one condition.” She smiles back at Marianne, almost wistfully. “Do not follow behind me: stand by my side.” Edelgard extends her hand. “We will seize our future together.”

Marianne’s hand clasps Edelgard’s tightly. “Together,” she repeats.

That night, she sleeps peacefully for the first time in years.


	4. Chapter 4

Marianne’s knowledge of the war’s first battle is indirect, relayed to her secondhand. She had wanted to accompany Edelgard, but the Emperor had denied her request, saying “I cannot ask you to confront your old comrades. Not so soon.”

Instead, she stays in the rearguard, tending to wounded soldiers carried away from the fighting on the front lines. The inside of the medical tent drives home the horror of war to her: soldiers clutch at themselves with bloodstained hands to keep their guts in place, cry out deliriously for parents or lovers, or simply sit in silence, shattered by the things they’ve seen. Nonetheless, Marianne finds meaning in caring for them. The soldiers of Adrestia are here of their own free will, fighting for a cause and a leader they believe in—much like the militia of the Gaspard rebellion, snuffed out by the Church all those months ago.

She finds herself tending to the wounds of a man a few years older than herself, who’d taken a lance through his upper leg during the fighting. He’s lucid enough to introduce himself as Randolph von Bergliez, and even to joke about his situation.

“A little higher, and I’d have been relieved of the onerous duty of siring an heir.”

Marianne blushes at that, clearing her throat. “Th-that’s not the sort of thing to make light of.”

“Ah, that was boorish of me.” Randolph bows his head apologetically. “I suppose I should be more mindful of my words in the presence of a lady such as yourself.”

“That’s not what I… um, n-never mind.” Marianne shakes her head as she ties off the bandage and steps back. “You should try to stay off your feet for at least a week. Healing magic can close a wound in an instant, but that does no good if you reopen it trying to do too much.”

“I shall take your advice to heart, my lady.”

After a moment of awkward silence, Marianne gathers the courage to ask the question that’s been on her mind. “How is the battle going?”

Randolph looks proud, a faint smile coming to his lips. “It goes well. We are taking losses, but not as heavy as might have been expected. And with the Emperor herself fighting in our ranks, not a soul among us would consider retreat.”

The reverence in his voice makes Marianne feel almost jealous. Still, she supposes it is only natural for Edelgard to be such a symbol to everyone following her. “What of the townsfolk?”

The soldier’s smile fades. “It seems that most of them were evacuated to the monastery before the fighting began. But with the bombardments from the Knights of Seiros to slow our advance, I am unsure how many will have homes to return to when this battle is done.”

“I… I see.” Marianne falls silent. In her mind she can see the streets she rode through just a few weeks ago, now choked with rubble and ashes.

Randolph looks concerned. He seems to be searching for a way to reassure Marianne when an earth-shaking roar splits the air. His eyes widen in shock. “What was  _ that _ ?”

Marianne feels the blood turn to ice in her veins. It’s as if all her instincts have awakened at once, warning her of danger. Her body screams at her to hide, but she forces her own will to take control, and rather than cowering under a table, she runs outside.

She has seen wyverns and pegasi in flight before, but the shape in the skies above Garreg Mach dwarfs anything else Marianne has known. Perhaps her fear magnifies its size, but it seems as large as the cathedral, and the shadow of its wings blots out the sun. A legend that had fought alongside holy Seiros in her crusade against the wicked gods of old, now made flesh and laying waste to her Church’s enemies in its rage.

The Immaculate One.

Marianne’s legs give out, and she falls to her knees in the mud. Unbidden, a single thought winds its way to the surface:  _ is this the monster we must fight? _


	5. Chapter 5

Over the months that follow, Marianne grows accustomed to the Imperial army. She’d always kept her distance from others at the monastery, fearing what might happen if they learned of her curse, but she finds herself slowly drawn into their camaraderie. Soldiers greet her with smiles and salutes: everyone seems to have a friend, or a friend of a friend, who was healed by her. When she dines in the officers’ mess hall, she’s joined by Randolph and Ladislava—and as time passes, more familiar faces.

It comes as no surprise that the Black Eagles follow Edelgard into exile. They are, after all, the house she had led, and many of their families support her cause as well. What surprises Marianne are the students from the other houses. Ashe of the Blue Lions arrives under the banner of his late adoptive father, Lord Lonato, who had died raising his sword against the Church. Even more surprising, though, is the glittering company of knights flying the flags of House Gloucester, with none other than Lorenz at their head.

“Why, Marianne. It has been some time, has it not?” Lorenz greets her with a smile and a courtly bow. “We were all rather taken aback when you vanished from Garreg Mach, but it seems there was no cause for concern. You seem to be in good health.”

“I am quite well, thank you,” says Marianne, returning his bow shallowly. “It’s kind of a surprise to see you here, though.”

“Whatever do you mean by that?”

“Back at the monastery, I used to see you at the cathedral all the time. I thought you were quite devout.”

Lorenz makes a face—not so unsightly as to be called a grimace, but certainly more potent than a frown. “You could say the same for most nobles, but both their faith and mine are rooted more in obligation than belief. Besides, the choice was not wholly mine to make.”

“Do you mean… your father?” Marianne has heard a number of things about Count Gloucester, both from Margrave Edmund and from the members of her old house. He strikes her as a calculating man, concerned chiefly with himself.

Lorenz nods. “Quite so. He sees this simply as another opportunity to elevate our house’s standing relative to the other Alliance nobility. By dispatching a small force and entrusting its command to me rather than leading it himself, he can also maintain the pretense of neutrality.”

Though he masks it well, there is no mistaking the hint of scorn in his voice.  _ I take it that Lorenz and his father disagree on a few key points. _

“What about you, Marianne?” Lorenz asks. “As far as I know, Margrave Edmund seems firmly in Duke Riegan’s camp. That made it all the more surprising for me to meet you here: I can’t think of a political rationale for it.”

Marianne considers how best to answer.  _ Of course Lorenz would think of that. He’s accustomed to the way the nobility jockeys for power. I must seem terribly naive in comparison.  _ “I… I suppose it’s because I believe in Edelgard, and in her cause.”

“I see.” Lorenz bows. “Forgive me. I fear in my curiosity, I may have unintentionally impugned your honor by questioning your motives.”

“It’s all right,” says Marianne quickly. “To tell the truth, I didn’t really consider what other people would think of my choice. I just did what I felt like doing. I’m sure it must seem silly...”

Lorenz fidgets with the rose brooch at his chest, smiling. “Not at all! I admire your decisiveness in choosing a course based on your own convictions. I’d never taken you for a romantic, but it suits you well.”

“Thank you, I think.” Marianne’s cheeks redden at the compliment, but Lorenz doesn’t seem to notice.

“I must be going, to make sure that my knights are properly supplied and quartered. It was pleasant to converse with you.” He bows once again with a flourish, laying his hand over his heart. “Farewell, Marianne.”

“Until next time.”

She watches him go, and tries not to think too hard about why the word  _ romantic  _ caused her heartbeat to quicken.


	6. Chapter 6

The conflict between the Imperial Army and the Knights of Seiros cools to a stalemate, even as the heat of summer intensifies. With the archbishop captured and the other leaders scattered, the Church lacks the confidence for overt tests of their strength. There are still skirmishes from time to time, chiefly with the loyalist nobles of northeastern Faerghus, but none so dire that they require the Emperor’s personal forces to resolve.

Though she is granted her own quarters in the bustling palace of Enbarr, Marianne feels more alone than she had at the camp. Randolph and Ladislava, both promoted to the rank of General, receive assignments to new posts: Ladislava to aid Ferdinand and Lorenz in defense of the Great Bridge of Myrddin, and Randolph to a small fort close to the now-abandoned Garreg Mach.

That isn’t to say that the rest of the Black Eagles aren’t friendly to her. Petra always greets her with a smile and a “Good to be seeing you!” whenever they pass in the halls, and Dorothea seizes any opportunity to chat over tea. Linhardt has always been socially withdrawn, but whenever Marianne visits the library he is quick to clear a spot at his table for her to sit; at some times in companionable silence, at others drawing her into an engrossing conversation on the nature of Crests and Relics.

As for Edelgard, she seems to be constantly surrounded by advisors demanding her attention on some matter or another. The most intimidating of these is the Emperor’s uncle, Lord Volkhard von Arundel, who some dissatisfied nobles grumble is the true power behind the throne. Marianne meets his eyes one evening as she’s trying to muster the courage to meet with Edelgard, and what she sees makes her quail. In his gaunt face, she sees the same implacable hatred and murderous rage that she had heard in the dragon’s roar.

_ I can tell just by looking at him—that man is dangerous. Even though we fight for the same side, he looks at me as one would an enemy. _

The leaves begin to change color and fall, and Marianne notices that the Emperor’s appearances are becoming more and more infrequent. When she talks to the other Black Eagles, they have no more idea than she does: the circumstances which kept Marianne at a distance have done the same to the rest of them.

Then, in the midst of an autumn storm, she receives her answer from the last source she had expected.

Marianne returns to her quarters after a long day spent instructing new healers. As she reaches for the door, she foggily realizes that there is already light shining through the crack underneath it.  _ That’s strange. Did I leave a lamp burning? Though it would have run out of oil by now, if that was the case… _

When she opens the door, there’s someone already inside, seated by the table with a book in his hands and an empty cup in front of him. The man looks up, piercing green eyes meeting Marianne’s from under a curtain of black hair.

She squeaks in surprise. “Hubert! I’m, uh, sorry to disturb you, I’ll just be going now, goodbye!”

He opens his mouth to say something but before he can get the words out Marianne has already slammed the door behind her and retreated down the hall.  _ Oh Goddess, that was embarrassing! I can’t believe I mistook HIS room for my own. I must be more tired than I thought! _

She makes it a few more steps before her mind finally catches up to her.  _ Wait. His quarters and office are in the opposite wing of the palace. I can’t have gotten  _ that _ turned around, can I? _

Marianne backtracks. This time, she looks more closely at the door.  _ This… is definitely my room. _ She knocks on the door and clears her throat. “Um. C-can I come in?”

Hubert’s silky voice responds immediately. “Please do.”

Marianne enters, still unable to push down her feeling of awkwardness. Hubert is still seated by the table, but he stands and gives her a shallow bow as she closes the door behind her.

“Forgive me for the… unconventional nature of my visit,” he says. “There are a great many prying eyes and ears in the palace, and not all of them answer to me.” He gestures toward the tea set. “Would you prefer the Dagdan fruit blend, or the lavender?”

“Lavender, please,” she replies with automatic politeness.

Hubert snaps his gloved fingers to light the brazier and busies himself with the tea set, while Marianne tries to process the fact that the Emperor’s spymaster is paying her a secret visit and making tea that could be  _ poison _ (she knows what his reputation is like) and if Hubert has decided that she’s a threat to Edelgard then even if she  _ doesn’t _ get poisoned there’s no way she’s making it out of this room alive, unless she can convince him otherwise, but there’s no way she’s articulate enough to mount a convincing defense, and  _ oh if only  _ she had the same gift for rhetoric as her adoptive father, maybe she’d be able to find a way out of this mess, except that if she’d been gifted in that way perhaps she would have had more confidence, and if that was the case she might not have been struck with such an intense admiration for Edelgard and put the events in motion that brought her here, alone in a room with one of the most dangerous people in Fódlan—

“Sugar?” Hubert asks, pouring the tea.

“No, thank you.”

“You can sit down. This is your room, after all.”

“Oh, right… I mean, um, y-yes sir!”

Hubert’s brow furrows.  _ Did I make him angry?  _ “There is no need to be so nervous, Lady Marianne.”

“There isn’t?”

The spymaster rubs at his forehead and lets out a long sigh. “I know full well that many people find me intimidating. Bernadetta has made that abundantly clear—though, to her credit, she has also made efforts to overcome her fear.” He passes her a cup. “Please, drink while it is still hot.”

Marianne accepts the tea and takes a sip. The familiar flavor soothes her, letting her put her worries aside for the time being.

“Is it good?”

Marianne nods, smiling. “Yes.”

Hubert actually looks  _ relieved _ . “I will admit, I am far more accustomed to brewing coffee than tea. I am glad I was able to prepare it adequately.”

“You’re not here to kill me, then.” It isn’t until Hubert sighs once again that Marianne realizes she’d said that out loud.

“Of course not. If that was my purpose, I would have—hm.” He cuts himself off, and to Marianne’s shock, blushes faintly. “Never mind.”

_ He tries not to be frightening, but I guess he really can’t help it, can he? _

“What was it you wanted to talk to me about?” she asks, taking another sip of her tea. “It must be important, if you went through so much trouble to maintain secrecy.”

Hubert steeples his fingers. “I believe you may already be aware, but Her Majesty has more enemies than the Church. There is one group, in particular, that is very close at hand.”

“You mean Lord Arundel, don’t you?”

“Indeed. Though you might not realize it, you are already familiar with their handiwork. The revolt of the Western Church, the plague at Remire, the Demonic Beasts at the chapel, and the murder of Captain Jeralt... the responsibility for all of these things, and more, can be laid at their feet. They have hidden in the shadows of history for a thousand years, perhaps more, seeking to manipulate rulers like puppets on strings. What they once called themselves has been lost to history, but we have a name for them: Those Who Slither in the Dark.”

Marianne shivers. “Why would Edelgard ally with people like that?”

“The Emperor lacks the power to defy the Church of Seiros on her own,” says Hubert. “Abhorrent as they are, Arundel and his ilk are ancient enemies of the Immaculate One. Though I am loath to admit it, their manipulations are what allowed us to sway the nobles of Adrestia to Her Majesty’s side. We have a common cause… for now.”

Hubert balls one hand into a fist, the thin leather of his gloves creaking at the pressure. “I am no stranger to dirtying my hands in the service of a greater cause. But the things they have done to Fódlan—to  _ Her Majesty _ —are unforgivable.” His voice is icy, and Marianne can  _ feel  _ his killing intent weighing down the air like a miasma.

“I think I understand a little better now,” says Marianne. “But still, what does all of this have to do with me? I want to help Edelgard any way that I can, but will I really be of any use to her against an enemy like this? I’m just…” Every doubt she thought she’d left behind comes rushing back.  _ Useless. Indecisive. Timid. Monster!  _ Marianne stares into her empty cup and finishes quietly. “...me.”

“It is precisely for that reason that I am asking you, and not someone else,” says Hubert.

“What do you have in mind?” Marianne says slowly. She sets down her teacup—empty now. She’d drank the whole thing and barely even noticed.

“You may have noticed that Her Majesty has been making fewer appearances. I’ve informed Lord Arundel that this is due to a decline in her health.” He scoffs. “There is a kernel of truth to that. Lady Edelgard has not been the same since…” He trails off, shaking his head. “No, it is not my place to say. In any case, I have informed him that it would be for the best to bring on a private physician, one whom Her Majesty can trust.”

“And you want it to be me.”

“Precisely.” Hubert lifts the teapot and pours out another cup for Marianne. “The Emperor feels a certain kinship with you. Though your circumstances are different, you have both suffered for the blood you bear. You understand her in a way that few others can.” He looks contemplatively into his empty cup. “I serve Lady Edelgard to the best of my ability, but she needs something more than a co-conspirator, or a tool to carry out her ambitions. She needs a friend.”

_ A friend.  _ Marianne thinks back on how Edelgard had been, back at the academy. Her talents had made her stand out above the other students, seemingly unreachable. She’d never considered how  _ lonely _ the princess must have felt.

“Whatever you need me to do, I’ll do it,” says Marianne firmly.

Hubert… smiles. Not the satisfied smirk of a plan fulfilled, or the mocking grin he’d give an outwitted opponent. This is something entirely different. For just a moment, the mask of a servant of House Hresvelg slips away, and Marianne sees the face of a young man who would do anything to bring happiness to the ones he cares about.

She blinks, and the moment is gone. Hubert is all business once again, cool and professional. “I shall make the arrangements to have your belongings moved tomorrow. A physician must remain close to her patient’s side, after all.”

“Thank you—” she begins to say, but Hubert shakes his head.

“There is no need for thanks. I am indebted to you.” He rises and bows once more, but the bow is deeper this time: a true expression of gratitude, not a social nicety. “Now, Lady Marianne, I bid you goodnight.”

For a long time after his departure, Marianne sits in silence. By the time she thinks to pick up her tea again, it has gone cold.


End file.
